


Age of Gold

by Rioghna



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioghna/pseuds/Rioghna
Summary: When Rum Gold’s plane goes down in mysterious circumstances, he meets someone who offers to help him.  Always beware of strangers making offers.





	1. Crash

Rum regained consciousness groggy and in pain. At least he was pretty certain he was conscious, it could have been a nightmare. His head was pounding and he couldn't quite remember where he was. There was an accident, he crashed his car maybe? He thought that might be right, but he couldn't quite get his head working.

"Shhh, you're safe, I've given you a painkiller. I hope you don't have any allergies. Go on back to sleep, and try not to move," a voice told him, American it was. No, that couldn't be right, what would an American be doing at the Royal Infirmary? He was so confused. Rum wanted to ask questions, to tell the voice that he was hurting, but it couldn't quite...

"What...please..."

"Don't worry, everything is fine for now."

"But my wife...is it...the baby safe?" he asked thickly as the blackness closed over him.

 

The second time he woke up, he knew something was wrong. His body ached all over, and his mouth tasted like the last back alley brawl he'd been in probably twenty years ago when he was a student. As he cracked his eyes open, it was dark, very dark for starters. He'd never been in a hospital that was truly dark before. But he should be in a hospital, or Rum thought he should. He'd been in some kind of accident, that much he was sure of. Then there was the smell, damp and musty, with something else, antiseptics. The antiseptics were right but it didn't have the rest of that hospital smell, the combination of liberally used cheap disinfectant and cleaner covering the smell of blood and piss, and other things best not thought to closely about.

His eyes were starting to focus which he was pretty sure was a good thing but he couldn't remember what happened, and that worried him. Above him the ceiling seemed to curve and looked like stone, like a cave maybe. Why would he be in a cave? Rum tried to move, raising his arm first carefully.

"Awake now are we?" the American voice reached him, sounding a bit overloud in the quiet, as if his ears were out of practice with listening. "Here," the man said, moving towards him carrying what looked like a camping lantern. A moment later, he'd set it down somewhere above Rum's head, casting a little light on the...cave he was in.

"Where am I?" he asked, as he tried to sit up. The man moved to his side and helped him up on the pillow a little more. "What happened?" His voice sounded rusty in his ears, his brogue thicker than it had been for years, though that was probably a side effect of what felt like a mouthful of Golden Syrup, without the sweetness. His tongue wanted to stick to his palate and he didn't even want to think about what he looked like. Everything felt thick and swollen.

"Well, what do you remember?" the man asked. He started to stir, and the man helped him very carefully to sit up in what appeared to be a camp cot.

"I'm not sure," Gold said. "I’m in pain and..." He looked down and instantly regretted it. He looked like he’d been in a massacre, his shirt torn and bloody, covering...something. He could also feel something sticking to him, itchy, at least it was until he tried to take a deep breath. Pain exploded in his chest, so hot and sharp that tears welled up in his eyes and suddenly he was both dizzy and nauseated.

"Easy now," the man said, leaning close enough in the light for him to finally get a good look. White hair, or probably white if it weren't covered in something, eyes that looked slightly overlarge, and pale, but that was probably the light. Rum guessed him at maybe ten, fifteen years his senior. "You have cracked and probably fractured ribs and one of your lungs collapsed. I think we managed to get it inflated, but I'd be careful with breathing too deeply. It probably feels like..."

"Like I've been hit by an articulated lorry, and both segments at that? Yeah, cheers."

"I was thinking a truck, but all right. Anyway, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Is there good news to go with it?" Rum asked, trying to make light of it. Now that he was sitting up, he could taste old blood and he was pretty certain that wasn't good. But what choice did he have? Bits and pieces were dropping into place. He had been on his way to...somewhere...No, from somewhere. Something about demonstrating his new low frequency communications device, and the jammers...Military? Major Nolan was going to be really pissed if something happened to prevent him getting them. Jefferson had been trying to organise this for a while, but finding the timing...Belle, the thought suddenly fuelled a panic, and he tried to get to his feet. "Belle," he whispered as the man tried to still him.

No, Belle hadn't come, he remembered that now. Something about her father. Moe was in the hospital. Maurice French had gotten into an altercation with some boneheaded thugs, a sort of 'street gang', if such a thing applied to a bunch of layabout drunks who liked to mug shop owners and vandalise things and hadn’t matured significantly since they’d been thrown out of high school. They called themselves the 'Ogres'. Moe was a big man, bigger than Rum was by a good bit, and he was uninclined to take shite from a bunch of useless bastards that he'd know since they were in school, or so he said when he called Belle from his hospital bed. The call had been on speaker, because they had been packing at the time.

Rum had sent her off to Storybrooke, Maine, telling her he could handle the demonstration himself. He'd offered to send Swan, his security chief, with her, but she declined. She had a few choice words about what she was going to do to those 'Ogres', at least the ones that Moe hadn't hospitalised, when she caught them. "It's just Keith and Gaston and their friends, should have grown out of this nonsense years ago," she'd said as she hurried out the door.

He had tried to pretend that it didn't matter, that he didn't care if she came. Now he'd never been happier not to have her with him. _Should_ _send_ _those_ _punks_ _a_ _fruit_ _basket_ , he thought vaguely. He was almost certain that he was still partially stoned. He couldn't think of another good reason for his erratic thoughts or the pain having subsided so easily.

"That you woke up, that _was_ the good news," the man said regretfully.

"Tha's not good then," he said. His tongue was still feeling thick in his mouth and the man helped him to a sip of water that tasted like heaven for all it was warm.

"I patched you up as best I could, but I'm no medical doctor. I told them you needed a doctor at the least and a real hospital but..."

"Who is 'them' anyway? Who are you for that matter?" Rum asked. His head was clearing somewhat and now he was starting to want some actual answers. At least he was fairly certain that Jefferson would be out looking for him. It had to have been long enough that they knew he was missing.

"Sorry, for the first part I don't have any real answers for you. Mercenaries, I think. The leader is a guy by the name of Albert Spencer, they call him 'the general'. Paramilitary types. No idea what they are doing though, or what they want."

"And you? How do you fit into all this?" he asked suspiciously.

"Another victim, I'm afraid, or possibly collateral damage, I suppose. Sorry, I haven't introduced myself. Alexander Zoso, University of Chicago, department of Archeology. I am, or rather I was, out here with some students. There is supposed to be a lost city here in these hills. We had some tablets and new documentation, so we set out to find it. The dig was just starting to pay off too. We have been looking for something that the tablet referred to as 'the palace or place of the dark one', supposedly full of artefacts and writings, or so the tablet says, some kind of arcane knowledge. Then these men showed up, more or less attacked us."

Rum tried to make sense of it, but he was pretty certain he wasn't processing everything.

"...wrong place, wrong time, I guess," Dr. Zoso was still rambling a bit or Gold had checked out, he wasn’t sure. "I got the impression they were waiting on something to happen. Then there was a lot of activity, and I heard something, even down here, sounded like a car wreck or an explosion. Then they brought you here."

"The plane," he said thickly, gratefully accepting another drink of water. "Pilot said the lights and gauges started to go haywire, diverted to put the plane down in the nearest place, didn't want to risk an engine fire. Then...it's still a blank, but I think...What about the pilot, the crew? Jefferson wasn't with us, he stayed behind but..."

"Sorry, you are the only one they brought here. The General was pretty pissed though. Something about you being supposed to be unhurt. All I heard was the shouting, mostly Sergeant Hodor yelling at anyone and everyone. He's one to stay away from, he's a dangerous bully."

"Lovely, sounds like a real charmer, not that I’m going anywhere. I think they were looking to kidnap me specific, then."

"Well, that could be but I'm not sure if it’s going to matter. I'm being honest here, not sugar coat it. I patched you up the best I could, but I'm no doctor, not that kind anyway. I've got EMT training, but...I'll lay it out for you. You've got a fever, which implies an infection and I'm not sure you don't have internal bleeding."

Just then there were sounds of a disturbance, boots on the stone and voices shouting.

"Is he awake?" someone said, already yelling even as he came into the chamber. "No excuses, I need him up and mobile, at least for a little bit."

"General, he just woke up and I'm not sure..."

"Did I ask you for your opinion?" he growled. He was a grizzled older man with a hard face, what Rum could see of it in the dim light. "Hordor, get him on his feet," he shouted to the man behind him. Rum wasn't a big man, never had been, yet another thing his father held against him. The man, Sergeant Hordor, was taller and about twice as broad. He moved over to the side of the bed and grabbed him by the arm, jerking him to the edge of the camp cot. Pain exploded again in his chest.

"Careful, you want to kill him?" Zoso snapped at the man. "I'm not even sure I have those ribs put back together right."

"He'll be fine, he just has to..." the sergeant started but The General interrupted him.

"Don't do any more damage than necessary. Proof of life, remember?"

The man grunted as he dragged Rum to his feet. Of course, the moment he was on his feet, his long ago damaged ankle went and failed on him. The Sergeant growled, but then hauled him none too gently to his feet and dragged him off.

 

**********************************

By the time he returned to the side cave where he'd been recovering, Rum knew things were not going to end well. Hordor was not just a bully, he was a sadistic bastard, who didn't seem to care much about whether Rum lived or not. Rum's bad ankle being incapable of holding him up, he'd been half dragged off into another side cave. Each breath had felt like he was breathing in broken glass.

The man had dropped him unceremoniously into a chair before a webcam.

"As you can see, Mr. Gold is alive and well," Albert Spencer had said . "Now for the rest..."

"He had best stay that way," a strong female voice growled from the computer, the Australian accent that was usually so mild was thick with anger.

"Belle," Rum whispered. But he didn't get a chance to speak to her. The General gestured and he was tugged up, pain washing through his body, and dragged from the room.

Halfway through the main cavern, a journey that had seemed a hundred miles but was probably barely a hundred yards, he fell to the ground. The Sergeant glared at him. "I'm not here to carry your lazy carcass," he'd spat at Gold.

"I can't, my leg," Rum had tried to explain. “Need a...”

"Not my fault, if you want your bed, you can crawl for it," Hordor had yelled. Gold had lain there in the dirt, waiting for the pain to subside, but it wasn't enough. The Sergeant kicked him, careful to aim for his good leg. "Go on, crawl worm," he'd jeered. Some of theothers that had just been sitting around in the cave, men of much the same stripe, joined in, flinging insults and kicks at him while the rest looked the other way.  Part of him had wondered if he should just lay there. Zoso had implied that his situation was dire and as much as he wanted to, he doubted there was any way out of this for him. But it wasn't in him just to give up, for all that he wanted to. One thing he'd been certain of, they had no intention of letting him live through this.

He thought of Bae, his son, and dragged himself on, despite the pain. At the opening, Zoso appeared. "What are you doing?" he'd yelled. "You're going to kill him!" The man had helped him to his feet and got him laying back in the camp cot. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, Rum had started to cough. He tasted blood and it sent a chill through him, certain that it was a bad sign. Before he could ask though, Zoso had given him something, and darkness claimed him.

******************************

When he awoke again, the man was still there. "Not a nightmare then," Gold said with a sour smirk.

"Afraid not. I've done what I can. I don't know what else I can do for you."

"Doesn't matter, they are probably going to kill me anyway. I only wish..." He coughed again, feeling the grating pain. "I need to get out of here. Don't suppose you have an escape plan in that bag of yours?" he asked with what might be a smile.

"What would you do if you could escape? We are miles from anywhere, not sure how far you can make it in your condition. But seriously, what is that important? Wouldn't it be better to see if they are going to turn you over for the ransome, or wait for rescue?"

Rum leaned his head back and thought about his answer. He wasn't a nice man or a good man. In business he was a ruthless bastard and he knew it, frankly, so did everyone else. But he had some limited scruples, which was more than could be said for his father. There was only one thing really worth anything in his life, well two, his son Bae and Belle, his assistant and more...well he wished there were more, but he knew she didn't care for him that way. Besides, even if she could, he was a bastard and hardly worth her. But Bae, that was another matter entirely. His son was his life, the only good thing to come from his marriage. "I need to try. There is one thing that _is_ important in my life, Bae, my boy. He needs me. I have to protect him. I'll do anything. It's important," he said leaning urgently toward the other man.

"How old is he?" Zoso asked.

"He's ten, be eleven in two months. The most important thing in the world to me. That's what I have to live for. You don't understand. There must be some way. Damn, I wish I could believe that they just want the money, its easily done.  But I don't, and I don't think they are going to keep me alive for longer than they absolutely have to.”

"On that I think you are right, me either. They've only kept me alive this long because I'm useful. I know these caves. They were included our survey, we explored them, mapped them before we started excavating."

"And ye're students?"

"I don't know, they split us up. I'm hoping that they let them go, but I haven't seen any signs...But listen...There might be a way...It's not easy, and I'm not sure you are in any shape to do it, but maybe, just maybe we can escape. Or get to somewhere we can hide until rescue comes. I mean, I know who you are, I've heard of Gold Industries, so I'm taking a guess that regardless of what these guys want, there is some kind of rescue planned."

"If there is a way, why haven't you tried it?" Gold asked. He was suspicious by nature, but so far the man had been nothing but helpful.

"No time," the professor told him with a shrug. "When they captured us, they took the kids off, and kept a close eye on me while I was showing them around. Then you...crashed or whatever it was that you did, and I was forced to play medic, but now...I don't know how much longer they will keep me alive either."

"Maybe you should try it on ye're own, go for help."

"No time, we are a long way from anything like a town, and once they knew I was gone, if they didn't find me first thing, they would just pack up and move, with or without you. It looks like it’s together or nothing."

"What's your idea?" Rum asked. He didn't necessarily think there was much hope, but it was better than none. He had to get back to Bae, and to Belle. Without him, he didn't want to think about what would happen to his son. So he listened, maybe, after they got away, he could convince the older man to leave him and get help, but first they needed to get away.

 

***************************

The next morning, or at least he assumed it was morning, the other shoe he was waiting for dropped. He was barely awake when the General came to question him about the new communications array. No one knew about that, no one outside the company and the military contacts they had been working with. So when they started to question him, he knew, knew that he had been betrayed.

"Doing all right?" Zoso asked him after they left, bringing a little food and water.

"About the same. Georgie's a right bastard himself. Threatened to take away the painkillers if I'd not tell him how to make the Gold Communications Net work for him. I told him I needed them as well as my equipment, and if I died on him, I was no good to anyone. Not sure how long I can put him off. Interestin' that the equipment is in such good shape. I remembered something as well, the plane. We were flying just fine when the equipment went haywire. The pilot radioed to find a place to put us down, reported concern that the engines would catch fire. We were supposed to land on a disused landing strip. I thought we were going to put down safely...That's all I remember. But the equipment from the plane is in almost pristine shape. What about you?"

“Well, the cave into the city is barely guarded. I told them there was no way out that way, and showed them part of the dig. Mostly they've left it."

"Is there a way out?" he asked.

"Not exactly, or rather there is, but it will take a little work. The city sat in the shelter of these hills, here, like a cove or a crescent," the professor said, scratching a little line map in the dirt of the floor. "After what we think was an earthquake, this side collapsed, blocking off the main entrance. That's why we started by exploring these caves, probably originally some kind of escape route in case of attack. They lead into the city and are closer to what passes for a road here as well. I was excavating here." He added a mark. "And I found what I suspect is the entrance to the palace. It's close to the back of the city, built right up against the cliff. I found what I think is the equivalent escape route. I didn't get a good chance to explore it, but if nothing else, the hill on that side suffered more from the quake. If we can't get through, maybe we can go over. It might take a little work, but on the other side of the hill, we are a lot closer to town. If nothing else, we could hole up, make them look elsewhere."

"It's not much, but it'll have to do. Can you manage some more strapping for my ribs to make it tighter? Maybe something to use as a stick as well? I can manage on me own well enough if I have one. Meanwhile, I expect them back with what I need to make the repairs, maybe I can manage to work a little magic. My people will like be lookin' for me, even if I assume you've not been seen to be missin' yet?"

"Not yet, supplies should come to town in a day or two. If no one shows up to pick them up, they'll notice pretty soon after that, but..."

"All right, I suppose we go tonight, then," Rum said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. But he had to try, for Bae.

After the rather short break during which Rum and Zoso worked on refining their (admittedly vague) plan and the professor tried to get Rum to eat as much as he could, two of their captors came for him. They dragged Rum into a different side chamber from the one he'd been in before, kitted out as a makeshift electronics laboratory.

"What am I meant to be doing with this then?" Rum said, resorting to sarcasm as he usually did. He could see his equipment had been brought in, looking none the worse for having been on a plane that had theoretically crashed. This had to have been set up well in advance, he realised. He wished he had a better memory of what had happened, but he knew from the accident that had taken his ankle and what Zoso had said that he'd had a head injury. The fact was, he might never remember the whole thing. "And where are my people? I could use a hand," he asked. He turned and looked over the workbench. At least they had given him a chair to sit down in.

"Work, don't talk."

"I would do, if I knew what I was meant to be doing," he growled.

"You should know," the General said as he came in behind him. "The same thing the military will want it from you, adapting your low frequency communication device for taking control of drones, among other things. It's a whole new world of electronic warfare and think of what this could mean? It’s all remote control now, and you have invented the new universal remote. Imagine being able to jam the signal for a bomb, or causing it to blow up while it’s being transported? This could change the whole face of warfare." The General grinned nastily.

"And kill a whole lot of innocent people in the process," he spat back. Not that he'd ever spent much time thinking what his inventions would be used for, but this certainly wasn't it. He'd admit, he'd never been anything but ruthless, still this would be chaos. Of course, that didn't matter to men like the General. Chaos meant war and war was good business for some.

"Not sure that's even possible," he drawled, trying not to show how much it disturbed him.

"I'm certain that a genius of your caliber can make it happen."

"And if I can't? I'm workin' in less than ideal conditions here."

"Make it work or the conditions you find yourself in will be worse," he said before leaving him alone with one of his men to 'assist', it wasn't as if he was much of a threat in his current condition, and they both knew it.

Outside he could hear Zoso arguing with the General about him. "He needs to be in a hospital or at least back in the cot," the man said.

"He needs to be where I say he needs to be, as do you. Funny thing about archeology, Professor, it can be dangerous work. People can just... disappear. I suggest you remember that. Besides, I gave him a chair, what more do you expect?"

"At least give me something more to strap his ribs, I've used all my supplies but he's not getting enough support. Surely you can spare a couple of ace bandages, maybe a few rolls of gauze? He's no good to you dead."

"Depends on how long it takes him to die," the General replied with a nasty laugh. "Hordor, get one of the men to give Dr. Zoso access to our medical supplies. Just the first aid stuff, wouldn't want him to get his hands on anything else. And you, you strap him up good. I need him in working shape. If he dies before I get what I want, you die too."

Gold looked at the soldier who had been assigned to him, listening as he was to the conversation outside. He was on the young side, at least from what he had seen, and supposedly had an electronics background. "Guess we'd best get stuck in. Pass me that meter there, need to make sure everything works for a start. What's your name, lad?"

"Corporal Thomas," the young man said, handing him what he needed.

"Alright then, Thomas, let's get to it."

 

*******************************

Several hours later, after meticulously checking all of his diagnostic equipment and setting it to run a check on the systems they were using, (as slowly and thoroughly as possible without getting caught) he looked up at Thomas. "Well, tha's the easy part. The mechanics. Now I need access to a computer, preferably me own."

"What..."

"Look, you want me to modify a seven billion dollar piece of kit in a hole in the ground without the best tools as is. The reprogramming, that's even more difficult. Don't think I keep the coding in my head, do you?"

 

When next he saw the professor, he was back in the camp bed, a pad of paper and pen on his knee, the screen of his specially-designed handheld computer on the table and his 'assistant' in the chair next to him.

"What's this?"

"Ah, professor," he said weakly. "I need to work on changing the programming... Next screen, lad," he told the young man who had the slightly bigger than palm sized keyboard in his hand, trying not to fumble it. "Since you convinced him of the need for me to rest, and the general doesn't trust me on me own computer, even with it isolated from the network, we've come to an accommodation. Thomas here is controlling the....Yes, that one, Isolate and zoom, right there....I'm makin' the changes on paper for their programmer to input. Lucky for them I grew up programming on paper first. Not a lot can do it anymore."

"Ah, well, finish that part and then I've got food and stuff to rebandage your ribs. I think you are getting too much movement. Food’s ready for everyone else too," he addressed the soldier.

"Tha's the end of that section anyways, lad. Good enough place to stop for now."

"Okay, I'll just..." the young man folded the computer up, clipped the keyboard into its place and took it with him.

"How's the stalling coming?" Zoso asked, putting the fresh heated MRE next to him and producing the bandages.

"Not letting me near the computer is a smart move on their part. And that one's smart, not sure how he ended up with this lot. But age and cunning..." Gold shrugged. "You?"

"Got your bandages, and we should be able to find you something to help you walk."

"Well, that's the easy part. Got any idea how we are going to sneak past? I'm hardly sneaking material on the best day."

"That won't be a problem very soon," Zoso said. "At least it shouldn't be, not after they have their coffee or water for that matter," he said holding up an empty medicine bottle, of the sort used for injections.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to read the bottle from a distance.

"Pure Morphine sulfate, not a cocktail either. I may have pocketed an extra bottle when they had me treating you initially... figured it could come in handy."

"Will it kill them?" he asked, not sure he cared save for the young man who had been assisting him.

"Probably not, well, maybe Hordor, he hogs the coffee. Most will get enough to just go to sleep, the ones that don't will be in no shape to follow us. Problem is, I didn't get in until after the shift change, so the back way is our only choice unless we want a fight."

"And the guards there?"

"I've been making a habit to visit with them, bring them coffee, share a cigarette. They think I'm bribing them to let me keep an eye on my dig." He smiled and for a moment Rum felt something cold, like an icy hand on his back. Instantly he dismissed it. Of course the man was helping him for his own reasons. He'd probably been planning from moment one, and taking the kidnapped billionaire along was a big bonus. Hell, if they survived, he'd give the man enough money to keep him funding his choice of digs for the rest of his life.

"What about your students and my crew? Any sign?" he asked.

"My...I haven't seen any signs. As soon as I get you strapped up, I'll go see if the coast is clear, get supplies and stuff. You just stay here."


	2. A deal he didn’t understand

The time ticked by slowly as Rum waited in the cave. Every minute that passed he expected gunshots and prayed to a god he didn't particularly believe in that they were going to get out of this, that he would get home to Bae. As soon as he could, he vowed, he would be with his boy.

"Come on, " Zoso said from the door. He handed him a rifle to use as a crutch. "Sorry, it's what there was," he said as he dragged him up. The cave was mostly quiet, more than he'd ever heard it. In the main area, two soldiers were passed out, one face down on the table, the other having fallen sideways out of his chair. From the corner came the sound of retching from behind a pile of crates, but whoever it was had other things to concentrate on. "Let's go."

They stepped over five more bodies, as they crossed the room and saw several more, zoned out, stoned or unconscious around the room. "No sign of my crew then?" he asked.

"No, nor my students, so unless they buried them," Zoso shrugged. "And no hope for the communications console. Apparently their radio operator is subject to morphine psychosis, I looked in. Seems he demolished the console, using one of his colleagues as a weapon. It's...probably better not to go in there. At least they won't be able to call for backup."

"I need the computer, that equipment case too, if you can. Need to make sure it's destroyed."

"There's no time for that, and the equipment is in there with a trained soldier doing his Incredible Hulk impression. I got your computer though," he said, gesturing to a couple of rucksacks laying next to the tunnel they were making for. "The kid still had it with him. I got as many protein bars and water bottles as I could fit, and your medicine. Now can we get out of here?" the professor growled impatiently.

"Lead the way," Gold said. With the rifle for support, he dragged himself along, hoping that the sentries on the front door wouldn't come to check on them until after they were long gone.

 

**********************

 

Rum wasn't sure how long he followed Zoso. They had gone out the 'back door' and found themselves in the lower level of what looked like a ruined house. The professor led him up, through a half collapsed entrance and into the first free air he'd breathed in days. For a moment, he just looked up at the night sky, trying to keep his breaths shallow so he didn't start to cough again.

"Come on, we've got a little ways to go. I want to get you somewhere safe, then I can see if I can't get through the other tunnel. We don't have time to star gaze."

Follow he did, until Rum thought his legs would collapse under him. They passed building after building, some half ruined, some in better shape with tracks that had probably been left by Zoso's students. A couple had yellow caution tape strung across the openings. "What's that then?" Rum asked, his voice sounding like a shout in the stillness.

"Buildings that were unstable. We marked them until we could get back and do a better survey, see if they could be shored up."

Gold just nodded, he had it in him to move or talk, but not both. Instead he tore down the caution tape and stuffed it in his pocket. The professor looked as if he was going to question it before realisation struck. Then he too began pulling down the tape as they passed. After all, each of them would have to be searched.

It seemed as if he had been forever following the other man with only the light from the almost full moon highlighting what had probably been a white shirt in another life. Then Zoso ducked into a building. It was bigger and better preserved than the rest. The professor produced a pair of torches and shined them around him. Gold could see the expected strings and pegs, bits of floor marked off and meticulously dug. Clear too was the interruption, notebooks left where they lay, surrounded by pencils, measuring apparatus, and things he could not even hazard a guess at the function of.

"As you can see, we had gotten this far in the actual excavation when we were attacked," Zoso said. "I was finishing the site survey when it happened. This way, there is a safe place for you to hole up while I go to see about that back door." Gold just nodded, slowly trying to catch his breath, a cold rivulet of sweat crawling down his back. Then they were moving again, but at least this time there was an end in sight.

They must have passed through the entire building, Gold thought as they reached what was clearly the cliff wall, unfinished. "Built right into the cliff," Zoso said, patting the wall, his voice echoing just a bit. "Better for defence and escape. Now..." he led him around what appeared just a jutting bolder out of the bottom of the stone wall, probably too big to move. Instead it turned out to mask an opening in the rock. "You can rest here," the professor said.

It was a little awkward, with the torch, bag and improvised stick but he dragged himself inside and looked around. There was a ledge of stone along two walls, with something, like a table in the middle. _Better_ _to_ _leave_ _the_ _guessing_ _to_ _the_ _professionals_ , he thought as he turned back.

Suddenly, he felt something, a whisper of...evil if he had to name it. It was sliding up his spine leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind. Rum Gold wasn't one for flights of fancy. He didn't believe in the supernatural, Gods, or daemons, it was nothing to do with him. But for the first time in the last thirty-some years, maybe longer, he felt the urge to pray, save he didn't know the words.

"Zoso, what..." he started, but even as he did, the man tossed the ruck sacks in with him.

"You just stay right here, I'll be back," he said and with a grinding sound, his face and the opening disappeared.

Rum stumbled toward the door with a cry. The room was pitch black save for the narrow beam of his torch, and even that wasn't much defence against the dark. It felt cold, and clammy, or possibly it was him. Surely Zoso didn't get him this far to kill him, it didn't make sense. He flicked the torch beam around the room. There was nothing there, nothing at all. Still, he couldn't stop the feeling of creeping dread, the feeling that he wasn't alone. Carefully he levered himself down onto one of the ledges, and pulled a bottle of water from the bag, trying not to down it all at once.

Gold had always been good at thinking on his feet, but this was really not his area. He tried to stay calm, for a few moments he focused on Belle. It was easier to focus on her than on the fear of what would happen to Bae. Belle, if she were here, she would be exploring. "Come on," she would say. "It’s an adventure." Rum couldn't help but smile. If he got out of this, maybe he would take a chance, maybe he would ask...He pushed those thoughts away. Right now he needed a plan.

If nothing else, he decided, he could search the room. There had to be some kind of internal mechanism. No one would want to risk getting stuck. _Unless_ _it_ _was_ _meant_ _as_ _a_ _cell_ _or_ _a_ _tomb_ , a voice whispered unhelpfully in his ear. Rum couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone, even though he clearly was. Putting it down to a sudden flight of imagination brought on by the drugs and adrenaline, not to mention the last several days of horror, he dragged his weary body up. Start at the beginning, go through to the end, then stop, as Belle always told him.

No one was foolish enough to put a door control where it could be accidentally stepped on, so he decided to save the floor for last. Cursing every one of the Indian Jones movies he'd seen with Bae, twice, he began his search.

 

*************************

Gold had finished the entirety of one wall, as far up and down as he could reach, when he heard it, a soft whisper. At first he shook it off as the wind, ignoring the deliberately sealed room he found himself in. Still it continued, seeming to get louder as he moved closer to the centre. The whispering grew stronger as he dragged himself forward, seemingly unable to resist the call.

He shivered. This wasn't happening, he tried to tell himself. It had to be some kind of effect of either the chamber he was in, or possibly the painkillers he had been taking, maybe both, some kind of weird stress reaction. _Or_ _you've_ _finally_ _gone_ _quietly_ _mad_ , he told himself.

Still he reached the table ( _altar_ , something whispered in the back of his mind). _Touch_ _it_...the voice like the rattle of dead leaves almost seemed to brush across his skin, felt as much as heard. His heart was pounding in his chest, causing an ache in his ribs and cold sweat had broken out over his body. He ran his hands over the surface of the table, then along the front, feeling some kind of carving that he couldn't even see.

Suddenly, Rum saw rather than felt the centre section open, as if by some hidden mechanism, revealing a hidden compartment. "This'll be where the spiders and snakes start then," he said out loud to himself, trying to do something to dispel the growing panic in his gut. Without will of his own, he found his hand going into the hole. He came up with a leather-wrapped article, not terribly heavy nor terribly light for the size. The whispers increased, but now it was indistinct, as if he was standing outside a crowded room with thin walls.

He pulled the leather away with one hand while trying to position it in the light of the torch without dropping either of them or losing his grip on the table that was keeping him upright. But before he could get a good look, the door slid back. He'd never been more grateful to see another person in his life.

"All right?" Zoso said from outside.

"Now you bloody well ask. Could have warned me before you locked me in here, could have been a claustrophobe," he growled as he grabbed the rifle for support, tucking the torch into his belt and grabbing the dagger and its wrapping in his free hand. As he moved toward the entrance, he could see Zoso standing on the far side and suddenly a prickle of fear crawled with the sweat down his back. In the light something strange seemed to have happened to Zoso’s face. Rum tried to tell himself it was a trick of the light, but he couldn't quite believe it.

He'd just made it out the door when he felt...something as if the very air had changed. "I'll take that now," Zoso said, his voice changing, becoming more high-pitched.

"What, this?" he asked, holding up the knife as if just noticing it. "You knew it was there the whole time." Something was happening and he didn't have all the pieces yet.

"I did," the professor said as if he was a not particularly bright child.

 _Use_ _it_ , _take_ _it_ , a strange voice was whispering in his mind.

"Why didn't you just go get it yourself? What _is_ it anyway?"

"Two questions, well I suppose I can indulge you. After all, you did solve my problem. You see, I might have lied to you about a few things. This place we are in, it wasn't the Palace of the Dark One, but that of the man who controlled him, me. Long ago, he found the dagger where I hid it and used it to force me to do his bidding. He became a great king and built this city to govern his kingdom, and I bided my time. However, when his death neared, he began to fear my power. He trusted neither his children to use the power, nor did he trust that I would not do something to them, to all of his people, if he returned it into my keeping. So he had this room built, hidden away and secret and warded against me. When he died, I was free, but the source of my power was cut off from me and I was seriously limited. Fortunately I've always been a patient being. Of course, immortality helps. But now I have satisfied your curiosity. Give it to me," he growled, leaning forward, a manic gleam in his eyes.

"Ye're mad," Rum stated, his accent the only thing betraying his actual fear.

"Not yet, but I will be if you don't give me what's mine." He let out something that would almost be a laugh if there was any humour in it. Rum backed up carefully, not an easy thing to do in his condition. He had no desire to fight with a madman, and certainly not over a 'magical' knife. "Give it to me and I might let you live. If not, I'll kill you and take it from your dead body, and then maybe I'll pay a visit to your boy, or maybe to....Belle? Is that her name, the one you whisper about in your sleep?"

"Ye'll stay away from my family," Rum growled. Rage was rising from inside him. There was no way this was going to happen. He couldn't trust this madman or whatever he was.

But before he could make a plan, the man was on him. Zoso was strong and bigger than he was, not to mention uninjured, but Gold struggled with him anyway. They fell together and for a moment sparks burst behind Rum's eyes. But Zoso had his hands on the dagger.

"I'm going to gut you like a fish," he whispered turning the blade towards him. It got close, scraped across his chest as he barely managed to turn it, cutting through his shirt, and skin, catching at an angle before skittering across his sternum leaving a trail of fire. It cut through the upper part of his chest, not very deeply, and narrowly missed his arm as he struggled. "You can't win, you know, it's futile to struggle."

But Gold couldn't give up, not for Bae, not for Belle. He let go of the dagger with one hand and punched the professor in the face, landing a blow hard enough to rock him back. He needed to get the man off of him, the weight pressing on his already-damaged ribs making it harder to breathe. "Why you..." Zoso started for him, but Gold had been in more than one dirty fight, in his life, the side-effect of always being the smallest lad at school. He waited as the man pressed closer to him, and head butted him, not always a wise move, but one that stunned him into loosening his hold just a little. Rum managed to turn the blade as the madman growled at him. He hadn't wanted to but suddenly he felt something strange, like his body was being invaded. The light in Zoso's eyes dimmed and changed, the madness leaving them.

"I'm sorry," he said as he shoved him off. Lying in the dim light, he seemed to shrink.

"You've made a bargain you didn't understand. Maybe you are stronger..." his eyes closed and as Gold watched, astonished, his body began to shrink and deteriorate, as if ageing several hundred years in several minutes.

 _Free_ , a voice whispered and he turned around several times before realising it was coming from inside himself. For just a moment he felt like a fire was burning through him and Rum wondered if he was going to die now. _Oh_ , no _, you are going to live,"_ he heard the voice whispering as if coming from just inside his left ear _. "You are going to live for a very long time."_ And the world went black.


	3. Recovery and control

When Gold awoke, he was covered in blood and for a moment he wondered if he had been more badly injured than he thought. Then he realised that he was...somewhere else, and could smell something burning, several somethings. Slowly he dragged himself into a sitting position and looked around him. He was sprawled across the seat of a humvee while behind him was the entrance to the underground compound or at least he thought it was. But the entrance was collapsed and rubble strewn, and he could see fire burning in the openings. Next to him, an armoured personnel carrier was blazing away in the night, in fact, the only vehicle that looked functional was the one he was in, the rest reduced to so much rubbish.

 _Soldier_ _boys shouldn’t_ _play_ _with_ _things they don't understand,_ the voice said, in a sing song, still coming from somewhere that he feared was inside him.

 _That's_ _it, I_ _'ve done_ _it, I've gone mad. Right round the twist._ _Might as well find meself_ _a nice padded room,_ he told himself.

 _No, not yet. It could happen of course_ _, but I'd_ _rather you didn't. A_ _new body is hard to find. The last one held me_ _for a_ _couple of thousand years_ _. But for now...you should be going_ _,_ the voice whispered helpfully.

With that last, it went quiet. Rum looked back at the compound and wondered if anyone lived. The lad, Thomas, hadn't deserved to die, but at the same time, he could feel something, a deep well of anger and blood lust he hadn't considered himself capable of. Unable to get his mind around any of it, he checked the vehicle he was in. It had keys, and the two rucksacks were sat in the other seat and somehow with a sense he didn't know he had, he could feel the dagger, dark and malevolent in the one closest. Being careful of his ankle, he started the engine and began to manoeuvre the humvee off, hoping that the map that Zoso had drawn on the floor hadn't been another lie.

 

***************************

 

A week later, Rum Gold was pacing the floor of his penthouse. "Where is she, Glass?" he growled.

"Miss French said she would be here at one o'clock. It is currently twelve fifty four," the almost artificial intelligence that ran his home and served as a combination butler, secretary and assistant responded in a slightly snippy tone. Once again he cursed the cruel sense of humour of Regina Mills, his former portage, who patterned the personality and the voice print off a programmer he'd never particularly liked and reprogramming it would take time he would rather use on other things. Worse, he would occasionally project his face onto one of the mirrors in the house, just to annoy Gold.

It had been seven days since he had driven out of the wilderness and straight into a search party. Jefferson, who had been leading it, had been particularly glad to see him, and had actually picked him up out of the seat of the humvee in his enthusiasm. How that man ever ended up in the military, he'd never know.

After that moment, everything became a blur. They had asked all the questions, twice and he'd answered what he could or at least what he could without appearing insane. Oh, the voice was still there, more or less, but rather than talking, it seemed to be burrowing deeper, trying to become one with him. It dug into all his fears and insecurities, leaving him feeling as if his brain was full of Drain-O. It brought dark thoughts, and violent ideas. His temper, never exactly long, had become shorter as well, and he knew he was turning into... something. He just didn't know what it was, or what to do, so he had buried himself in the workshop he'd made of the second floor of his penthouse when he had bought the place. Rum had immersed himself in researching anything and everything he could find to figure out what was happening to him, and where he had been. That he also had the power to do various things was another weird side effect.

 _Magic_ , the creature inside him whispered.

"Bollocks," he replied. He was a man of reason, of science and he wasn't going to allow himself to be dragged down the rabbit hole into fairyland. But information was scarce. He had, with the liberal application of money, managed to have Professor Zoso's office and home locked and all his research packed up and sent to him. Turned out the man, or at least part of him was, in fact, a professor at the University of Chicago, and Rum was hopeful that his notes would help. All it had taken was telling them that the professor and his students were killed by the mercenaries that had kidnapped him, and Rum had promised the man before he died that he would take care of his estate. That and a rather large endowment to the archeology department. Since the man was well known to have no heirs, no one even blinked.

That, of course wasn't his only difficulty. He had cancelled his contract with the military until he could find a way of preventing anyone from making the modifications that Spencer had wanted. Of course, the board was on his back about it, and if he knew anything, Malcolm was using it to try to manipulate them. But he couldn't allow it, especially right now, when he didn't know who he could trust. The plane crash had been no accident, and Rum knew that someone on the inside was involved. Besides Belle, Emma Swan, and Jefferson, he didn't know who he could trust, and with Jefferson, there was the rest of the command structure to worry about.

They had located the plane or rather the remains of it, but it had been deliberately torched and his crew was found inside. At least they had been dead when it was done, Jefferson had told him, single shot to the head. Gold remembered more of what had happened now. The controls had gone mad, warning lights going off across the board. The pilot, a good man named August, whose father still worked for Gold Industries, had decided to divert to a disused landing strip, afraid of an engine fire. He'd agreed, and gone to strap himself in, but they hadn't landed well. The runway was in bad repair and they had lost traction, a metal case that wasn't well secured had caught him in the chest and made him bounce his head off the bulkhead. The rest was still a blur, but it might come flickering back. Meanwhile, he just wanted Belle.

"More Books," the woman who had just been occupying his thoughts said as she let herself into the workroom. She had a cheery smile on her face, and he turned away from her for a moment.

 _Oh_ , _you_ _should_ _play_ _with_ _that_ _one_ , _or_ _better_ _yet_ , _let_ _me_. _She_ _would_ _be_ _quite_ _sweet_. He squelched the imp and tried to ignore the burn from the wound in his chest, which came and went. Belle wasn't for him, certainly not for whatever was living inside him.

"These were a little more difficult to come by. Care to tell me what I had to sell my soul for?" she asked, putting a hand on his arm gently. Belle was so very tactile, something he both loved and hated, especially right now.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively.

"Nothing huh?" she said. "Like the nothing that has you avoiding everyone and hiding here nothing? Rum, I want to help. When you are ready..." she said before putting the books on the workbench. "And don't forget the gala tonight," she said over her shoulder. He didn't want her to go, but he didn't trust himself for her to stay.

***********

 

"Spencer, you were supposed to get the information out of him, then kill 'im, preferably after getting the ransom," the voice growled nastily from the shadows.

"Well, he wasn't supposed to turn into some kind of unkillable...something either."

"Ye're lying. Nothing special about him, even if such a thing existed," he sneered dismissively.

"Oh?" Spencer responded. "It was caught on video, at least some of it. See for yourself." He clicked a remote and the screen came to life. The figure on it was recognisable as Rum Gold, barely. There was a strange green/gold shine about his skin that had to be a trick of the light. But then there was what he did with that knife, that was more interesting. According to Spencer, he'd been suffering from cracked and possibly broken ribs and there was the the lame leg, but as he watched there was no sign of injury except for the blood caked across his shirt. Somehow he didn't think it was Rum's. He watched the video carefully, and then again. He saw him get shot at least three times, yet, he just bared his teeth and continued to kill.

"We need to find out exactly what happened and for that, I need you to do something...'

"Oh, this time, I'll just kill him," Spencer said.

***********

 

The Gala was exactly the sort of thing Rum hated and his father adored. Billionaire playboy was Malcolm's role, forever the walking poster child for Peter Pan complex. But Malcolm wasn't here, he was off supposedly tending something regarding one of their European facilities, which left Rum to pick up the role.  Not that Malcolm ever did more work than he had to. _Probably_ _a_ _new_ _woman_ , he thought. So instead, Rum was here, leaning on the cane that he didn't really need anymore, a drink in his other hand, trying to pretend to listen to the two women who were, in turn, pretending to be interested in him and his recent experiences. He knew exactly what their interest was, of course. His ex-wife had made certain he knew what he did and didn't have to offer a woman. Still he didn't have much choice but to play the game, at least until he could gracefully make his exit.

At least that had been his plan as he extracted himself, pleading the need for another drink. Then he saw her, the woman draped in a gold gown as if she was just for him, chestnut hair swept up into something like an old fashioned Gibson Girl, and half her back bare. Unable to resist, he moved to introduce himself.

"Belle," he said, amazed and confused, not to mention entirely too aroused seeing her like that. Rum's thoughts ran away quickly to what it would be like to get her out of that gold gown, and wondering what was under it. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a life outside of work, you know," she said, only slightly teasing.

"How did that happen?" he shot back. "And when? I thought keeping me in line took up all of your time."

"I'm here with a friend from uni, Mary Margaret Blanchard.  She’s the one who is engaged to that Major you and Jefferson were working with. Small world." He released a breath he didn't realise he was holding. Not that she would ever want him, or that he would deserve her if she did. But the thought of her with another man woke a possessive streak he hadn't even noticed before.

"In that case, dance with me?" he asked. The song was slow and he wouldn't really need to show his hand. "Please, it would save me from those predatory females."

"I could, but won't it ruin your chances?"

"That's Malcolm's game, not mine," he said as he led her to the dance floor and gathered her into his arms, being careful to resist running his hands over her bare back. It felt so good, natural. Even the unnatural voice in the back of his head seemed quiet in her presence. Instead of thinking further about that, he concentrated on the feel of her. Even in heels, she was a couple inches shorter than him, and he was overwhelmed by the sweet smell of her hair, and the way she moved against him. When the song ended, he was reluctant to let her go, but slowly he did, leading her out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air.

"Belle, I..." he started to say, only to be interrupted by the ring of his phone. He glanced at it.

"I'll go get us a drink," she said, smiling and urging him to answer the offending instrument.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nice to hear your voice too, Gold. Spencer's alive. Chatter places him and some men in a small village between Pakistan and Afghanistan, playing bully boy for the local warlord. Thought you might want to know. He's been meeting with some shady characters as well, but techs are still working on it. Thought you might want to know that too."

"Thank you, Miss Swan," he said, his voice suddenly very cold and very precise. He was already limping towards the door as fast as he reasonably could. Emma Swan was undercover as his security chief, but she was also his contact to the inside of the DHS and while he knew she wouldn't be telling him anything the intelligence community didn't know first, she also wasn't expecting him to be able to do something about it himself. Inside, the imp was awake and giggling.

"Glass," he said as he slid behind the wheel of the car.

"Yes, Mr. Gold?"

God, he was in obsequious mode. Rum cursed under his breath, and reminded himself to make time to reprogram him if he had to do it line by line by candlelight on paper. "Autodrive, bring the car home," he told it.

"And what about you? How are you..." but he had already shut him out and let the other...thing in him take over. He wasn't sure how or why. Rum had been experimenting with some of his new abilities as well as trying to call a truce with the thing. He'd taken one quick hop, sneaking in to see his son quietly. Bae hadn't known exactly what to make of it all. He'd lied and told him it was a new stealth tech, but he wasn't sure the boy believed him. Now though, it was show time.

 

******************************

Everything was burning, fire raining from who knew where as Albert Spencer, self-styled General, tried to find an escape route. Things had gone badly wrong, and quickly. He saw the goat pen where they had put the women and children when they had taken control of the miserable village, needing a place to hole up while he regrouped and set up this little trap.

He stumbled into the pen, thinking of surrounding himself with hostages. His men were dead or dying and right now, he needed something. But he was too late, or mostly, as he saw the prisoners escaping through a large hole burned through the shed and the fence on the other side.

"General, what's your hurry? You wanted me here, didn't you?" the sing song voice called to him. "Can't have a party without the host, now can we?" The...man giggled unpleasantly.

Spencer moved faster, reaching out and grabbing the last woman and trying to pull her in front of him. "Now General, play fair," he sneered. With a flourish of his hands, the woman disappeared only to reappear on the far side of the fence. "No distractions. Now where were we?"

Watching safely from another country, Malcolm Westrin leaned back from the screen. Clearly his worthless son had finally done something useful. Now he just had to find a way to claim that power for himself. He reached for the phone.

***********

 

"Belle," Rum said groggily the next morning when she woke him from where he had fallen asleep on his desk. His hair was ruffled, and there was an indention across his cheek where he'd been lying on something.

"This where you ran off to?" she said, her voice a bit sharp, maybe disappointed? Surely not, she couldn't have been looking forward to more of his company, he thought, shaking his mussy head.

"No...Yes, a bit," he said, trying to sort out his sleepy thoughts. Last night was a bit of a blur as it apparently was when he released the tight control and allowed the thing in his head to take charge. "Swan called. Spencer was sighted. I needed to check some things. Sorry if I..." he said, but her entire demeanour had changed.

"Where is he? Are they going to be able to catch him?"

In the back of his mind, the images of the man's blood coating his hands filled his senses, the smell, the sticky feel, the taste of it. Suddenly he jumped up from the table and rushed to the washroom, as the voice in his head giggled.

When he returned, Belle was standing by his desk. She pressed a cup of tea into his hands without a word.

"Thank you, Dearie," he said off handedly, before going still. His voice wasn't that high pitched and he'd never called anyone ‘dearie’ in his life. Rum needed to get a handle on this, and now, before he hurt someone.

 _Bit_ _too_ _late_ _for_ _that_ , the imp whispered.

"Someone who _doesn't_ deserve it," he growled back.

"Rum, are you all right?" Belle asked, concern in her deep blue eyes.

"Fine," he grunted. "Just tired."

"And what about that?" she asked. He followed her fingers down to where he was absently scratching at his chest, red with blood that he assumed was actually his. Of all the injuries he had sustained, most had been completely or mostly healed by the creature now sharing his body. Only this one failed to heal naturally, the wound to his chest made by the bleeding magic knife. It burned and itched alternately, and occasionally bled. He wondered why.

 _Because_ _the_ _dagger_ _made_ _it_ , the imp whispered. _Oh_ , _it_ _will_ _heal_ , _most_ _of_ _it_. _But_ _there_ _is_ _that_ _tiny_ _chip_ _that_ _broke_ _off_ _the_ _dagger_. _It's_ _embedded_ _in_ _there_. _That's_ _never_ _going_ _to_ _heal_. _Probably_ _kill_ _you_ _eventually_ , the voice responded with a giggle. _But_ _not_ _for_ _a_ _long_ _while_ , _long_ _after_ _I_   _have_ _complete_ _control_.

"So I have to get it out. How would I do that?" he asked as he found himself fighting for the information.

 _Use_ _the_ _dagger_ , _open_ _the_ _wound_ , _the_ _chip_ _will_ _be_ _called_ _to_ _it_ , the imp growled before settling down to sulk in the back of his mind.

Gold thought about it. He couldn't even really see the wound properly, maybe mirrors?

"Rum, come on now. Can't you let me in, let me help?" Belle asked.

Belle, beautiful Belle with her big blue eyes, who he knew he could trust, at least more than anyone else. The only other person that came close besides his son, was Jefferson, and he was on the other side of the country. Besides, as much as he trusted the man...no, just no. He had to trust someone, someone who was not the creature inside him.

"You really want to help? Really?" She nodded. "I hope you aren't squeamish."

Belle was still looking at him as if he had lost his mind after he explained what he needed her to do. "You want me to... cut you open? Is this some side effect of your kidnapping? I mean I didn't think you were..." She blushed and then shivered.

"No, nothing like that," he reassured her. "But Belle, if you don't do this, it won't heal and in time it will kill me." His sincerity convinced her at least that he believed what he was saying. Still she suggested calling Dr. Whale (and Dr. Hopper). But he vetoed both. He didn't trust Whale at all, and the last thing he needed right now, considering his state of mind, was a psychologist.

It was this or nothing, so she agreed and set about getting first aid supplies while he adjusted several mirrors in front of his work chair, so he could help guide her. Now that he knew what it was, he could feel the piece where it sat. Satisfied, he rose and went to the security safe, the one of his own design and carefully removed a leather-wrapped object that he placed on the table. Then, trying to act nonchalant about it, he unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it into a corner of the room, followed even more reluctantly by his undershirt.

Rum knew he wasn't a pretty sight. God knew his wife had said so often enough. His body held a lot more strength than people expected, but he'd always been lean to the point of being downright scrawny, his chest practically as hairless as a girl's, as his father had remarked when he was a teen. But Belle didn't seem to care, she looked him over with a smile. "First time I've ever seen you like that," she said.

"Like what you see?" he said, trying to make a jest of it.

"Prefer it without the blood," she responded, biting her lower lip. "Are you sure? I never liked playing nurse when I was young. I'm not good at it."

"You'll be fine, you're the only one I can trust with this," he told her, sitting down and ripping the bandage away with a grimace.

"Alright, best get it done then." Belle grabbed a BZK wipe and began cleaning the long wound that slashed across his pale skin, angry and red. "Now what?" she asked when everything was cleaned to her satisfaction. "And what's that?" she indicated the bundle.

"That is what you are going to use," he said, unwrapping the blade and feeling the power sing along his nerves.

 _With_ _that_ , _she_ _could_ _bend_ _you_ _to_ _her_ _will_. _She_ _could_ _make_ _you_ _do_ _anything_ _she_ _wants_ , the imp growled and dear God, he wished it didn't cause a flood of images that definitely didn't belong here or now.

"This?" she said as she took the dagger from his slightly reluctant hand.

"Is it even..." she looked down at the wavy surface, unable to miss his name engraved on the blade, looking for all the world as if it had always been there on the ancient weapon.

"Belle, I am trusting you, will you please just trust me?" She gulped audibly, but nodded. "Take the blade and open the wound, right there," he pointed to the spot where he could feel it, the tiny piece of metal that burned against the bone in his chest.

Belle bit down on her lip and pushed the point of the dagger against the flesh, watching it slide into the not particularly closed wound. He could feel blood trickle down his chest and he groaned as the metal burned in his veins.

"Please, Rum, I can't," she said, her eyes following the red line.

"Just a little deeper," he said, putting his hand over hers, increasing the pressure until he felt the two pieces come together. There was...not exactly a sound, but a feeling, as something broke open. Dark green/black fluid drained out and there was a smell, like something decaying, as it washed down his bare skin. Quickly, he grabbed a sterile pad and laid it over the spot. He hoped he could somehow catch the fragment which had come back to the blade as if by magnetism. If he could analyse it, maybe he could understand.

Belle had immediately pulled the blade away and was staring at him, looking slightly green as the wound began to seal itself before her eyes. Rum was feeling better, the burning having stopped immediately, making him aware of exactly how much it had been hurting. But as a man who had lived with the almost constant pain in his ankle for most of a decade, it had barely been noticeable until it was gone.

"Give me that," the imp growled at Belle with his mouth.

"Wha..." Belle started, still in shock.

"The dagger, it's mine. Give it to me," he ordered forcefully. In the mirror, Rumple could see his eyes changing colour, his skin starting to change as he battled internally with the creature. Belle backed up in horror, dropping the blade.

Rum caught it, and forced the imp back into a closet in his mind, anxious to protect Belle. He wanted her to know he would never harm her, at least not as long as he was in control. _You_ _can't_ _hold_ _me_ _at_ _bay_ _forever_ , the creature promised before quieting down for a little while.

"Belle, I'm sorry. I didn't..." he started.

"What was that, Rum?"

"I think I owe you a story," he told her.


	4. Revenge

Rum sat in his darkened study with a large scotch. Belle had left. Hell, he'd urged her to leave, afraid of what would happen if he lost control again. The creature, imp, demon, whatever it was, was made of violence and depravity. He didn't even want to think of what it would do to her. He'd told her the story, everything and then he'd sent her away, asking for more research materials, not to mention checking on some things at the office. He fully expected her never to return and the darkness in his soul was taunting him.

Unable to deal with the thoughts that were now plaguing him, he returned to his workshop. At least he could analyse the fragment. It would give him something to do.

***********

 

It had been two days, two days that Belle French had spent researching and trying to get her mind right. She was confused. She didn't know what to make of what had happened to her employer. Not that she could deny it, not after seeing the evidence first-hand. Still, while she had continued to do her job, she hadn't been back to see him, sending her information by email or having Dove take it to the penthouse for her. Like him, she didn't want to think about it too much, but now she knew that the world was a lot bigger than she had ever thought. Still, she couldn't run straight back without knowing her own mind. She only hoped when she arrived tonight, he would accept her. She knew for certain that he thought he had driven her away. That had been evident from the tone of his responses to her. Belle also knew that part of him wanted to keep her safe and to him that meant away from him, but in her heart she knew he would never hurt her.

One thing that had come from his little talk was the firm belief that he cared for her, and not as an employee, and that made her want to dance on air, regardless of the circumstances. Rum was closed off, he always had been. He had good reason. Belle hadn't come to work for him until after Milah had left him for that over-pretty layabout that she ended up with. But she knew it had hurt him, not so much that his wife had left him, from what she had gleaned, the marriage had been over since the birth of their son and Rum’s injury, but because of Bae. Belle had met Milah once or twice, usually when she came around looking for money before she decided that she needed to take her half of everything. She had always seemed more concerned with getting what she wanted than with her son, and for that Belle would gladly have slapped her.

But now, Belle saw a chance, if she could manage to get her head around all this stuff. She had searched her heart and knew that she would be there by his side to help him through it. The other thing she knew right now was they needed as much information as she could manage. So she had put her time to good use, divided between trying to find useful things about magic (and who thought in a high tech world, that would ever happen), and the artefact. Then there was the other problem. Malcolm was making a move to replace Rum on the board, using his kidnapping and his subsequent retreat as a reason to be rid of him, citing ‘concerns about his health and need to recover’. But in some ways that was easier. She had run some special programs on the network, trying to figure out what exactly he was trying to do. Now, she needed to go by the office and gather the data. Once they had proof of who the traitor in the company was, they could move on it and return to the other problems. Determined on a course of action, she made her way towards the office. She just needed to collect that data, then she would go back to the penthouse.

 

Belle was just finishing her download when she heard voices in the outer office. Carefully pulling the portable drive from the computer, she crept to the door of her office and put her ear to the door. "Don't worry about that," she heard a familiar voice say. "I'll deal with my son. Soon enough he won't be a problem. Just make sure we are ready to go into production, when I have what we need." The voice was Malcolm's. "No, I've found a way to get everything. The boy won't be a problem anymore. Pity that he escaped that little trap, but he brought something even more valuable with him. And now that we know what it is, we can take it away from him, then we can dispense with Rum Gold for good." She couldn't hear who the other voice was, it was too indistinct, but she knew one thing, Rum was in danger. Waiting until she heard the footsteps pass the door, she crept out, feeling entirely too much like a thief in her own office, which made her angry.

She hurried down the back stairs. Not that she wouldn't be noticed, security was tight, especially since they were working with so many government contracts. But no one would particularly think anything of her being in the office, at least no one who wasn't on Malcolm's payroll, and she would be out the door before they could catch her. Belle had just reached the door, her cell in her hand, dialling Rum when she was grabbed from behind. She could hear him pick up as the phone was knocked from her hand. "Let me down," she screamed, hoping he could hear her and understand. "I work here, what do you think you are doing?" Belle flailed wildly, scoring a hit and causing him to drop her.

"Ah, Miss French. Sneaking around at my son's behest no doubt. Well, it’s not going to matter soon enough. I know what he has, and soon, I will have my hands on it, and then he won't be necessary, and I will have all the power in the world."

 

************************

On the other end of the phone, Rum was in a panic. Belle was in danger. That his father betrayed him was nothing surprising. The man had hated him ever since his grandfather, the original Gold in Gold Industries, had managed to lock his son-in-law out of the actual control of the company before he died. Malcolm Westin (another thing that had irked his father, Grandpa's insistence that he have his mother's surname) cared for two things, money and power. If he didn't have to work to get them, even better. He'd been a drunkard and a gambler before he'd met his mother, and only managed to clean up long enough to get her to marry him. He'd been drunk when Rum was born, even naming him after his favourite liquor over his mother's death bed, according to his Aunts. He'd never had a reason to doubt the story. Not that Malcolm drank as much as he used to. Now his schemes were bigger.

For years, Rum had let him play the crowd, attend the events, garner the headlines, and kept him away from the actual business, but that had changed when Milah had, after a long separation, and a lot of manoeuvring, started divorce proceedings, making public her intention of taking half of everything, as well as his son. Not that Malcolm cared for his grandson any more than his son, but he would never allow Milah that leverage, not when he thought he could get it himself. Rum had never been certain, but when she and her lover had been blown up in a boating accident, he had sent Bae into hiding anyway. He could never prove that Malcolm was responsible, but he knew his father cared only about making sure that all the money stayed where he could scheme to get his hands on it and the best way was to keep the man even closer to him than he liked. While there was very little he wouldn't put past the man though, this was more devious than usual. But it would not stand. There was no way he was going to let him harm Belle.

He hurried over and pushed the code to open his vault. "Access denied," Glass sneered from the surface of the nearest mirror.

 

***********

 

"I'm sorry you got caught up in this, Miss French," Malcolm said leering at his son's pretty assistant. "If he had just died like he was supposed to, you would never be in this situation. I was hoping to keep you on, as my own very personal assistant," he said, reaching up to touch her face. Belle pulled away as far as the ties would allow her. "Of course that boy has always had nine lives. Spencer was supposed to get the information on modifying that communications protocol out of him, collect the ransom and then, ooops, he died. If he had not kept the specs so close, I would have just sold them off on the side the way I did with so many other things. Still, it turns out he was even more lucky than I anticipated. Oh, yes, I know all about the dagger. You see, Glass has had a spyware protocol all along. It was easy enough to get Regina to put it in. All I have to do is direct it to record specific information. As soon as I saw what he could do, I just had to review the recordings, and what do I find? Him spilling all his secrets to the pretty girl."

"Knowing how it works doesn't really help you though, does it? It's all tied up to the dagger, and that is locked up at the Penthouse. You can't get to it," she said, hoping that Rum heard everything and called DHS or Jefferson, anyone with connections and military hardware. The building was fairly secure, it would take an army, or at least military-grade hardware to break into the facility, but if it kept Malcolm away from Rum and the dagger, that was all that mattered. From what she had seen of the creature that was attached to this...thing, the last thing the world needed was it in Malcolm's hands.

"Not directly. But you see, the moment after I caught you, I overrode the protocols. Rum is trapped in his house, no way out, and more importantly, no way to get the dagger. If Zoso couldn't get it in that cave, there is no way Rum can get to it with no access to that special vault in his house. So now we will wait it out. For tonight, make yourself comfortable. Tomorrow, I will call my son, and offer him a deal he can't resist, not when the life of his beautiful assistant is in danger. He's quite smitten with you, you know. And that will be his undoing."

"He won't, he doesn't care about me," she said.

"We will see," the older man said, turning away. "And when he does, I will be the one with the power. Apparently with that dagger, you can practically live forever. The things I can do with that kind of power..."

"Don't think you will ever get the chance, Dearie." The voice behind them startled both of them. Malcolm turned. It was still Rum, he could see that, but not. His skin had taken on a greenish gold hue, his eyes overlarge and no longer liquid brown, but a strange lighted amber and that hair that he had always kept slightly long was now a mass of wild curls. Still, his son was his son, and he was easy enough to deal with.

"Thought Glass had you well-locked up?" he said, not sounding particularly surprised.

"Ah, well, that's what you get for setting a machine to do a man's job. Of course, a man would have been just as ineffective, but much more fun. Now, what is it you wanted from me? I love a good deal," he asked, tucking his hand under his chin in an exaggerated listening position.

"That's simple enough. I want power. You have it."

"I do, and when two people each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck. However, that is contingent on you having something I want," he said with a knowing smile.

"Rum, my boy, in case you didn't notice, I have your lovely Miss French here. Surely she is worth giving your old man what he wants?"

Rum smirked, allowing the imp to control his actions. He needed to know his father's plans before he decided what to do with the man. Of course, the beast inside him wanted to just kill him, possibly in a gruesome fashion, and be done, but he had to know what the man had found out. It had been easy enough to escape the house, once he managed to convey the concepts of high tech to the monster. Unfortunately, Glass had been in no condition to be interrogated afterward. Apparently magic and technology didn't mix well. "Is that all then? I grant you the power you want, you give me Miss French, and everyone lives happily ever after?"

"Not exactly the deal I had in mind. After all, there is no way to be sure that once you have her back, you will not go back on your word. What I want is the dagger," he said. "That is where the power is, isn't it?" Rum shrugged. He had to give the man credit, he had done his homework, or someone had. "But the dagger is locked up in your vault and you no longer have access. I have this..." he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out an amulet. It had been hard to find, and cost him a pretty penny, but if it worked it would be more than worth it. "You put the amulet on, bind your power. Then we will both go and get your dagger. Once I have it, you will get Miss French, and I will get the dagger and you to do my bidding."

Rum looked as if he was mulling over the proposal. He could feel the power coming from the amulet, it would be enough to bind his power, if he didn't have his dagger. But he knew exactly what would happen once the man had the dagger. He would use it, kill him, and take the power for himself. All this magic had been more than he could understand. He had been fighting it since the first moment, until he had made a truce with the imp. Then it had filled him, integrating with his thoughts, his memories, and finding its way into his soul. It was more than he could handle, and despite appearances, his head was ready to explode, and keeping up the front was almost too much. But he had to hold on just a little longer. Then he heard it, the sound he had been waiting for. When Jefferson said you will know the signal when you hear it, he hadn't been kidding, the loud explosion shook the building. "I don't think I will be," he said.

"Why you..." Malcolm said, and threw himself at his son. Rum had always been a smaller man, it was something that his father was counting on as he tried to push the amulet onto him. But Rum was fast, even before his curse. He twisted around and without even reaching for his magic, punched the man in the jaw. The amulet went flying and Malcolm scrambled after it. Rum grabbed him by the leg and twisted, sending the other man sprawling backwards and throwing himself after him. The amulet was across the room, and Jefferson and his reinforcements were on the way. He had pushed the bounds of what his magic could do from moment one. With the added strain of having to let the dark one into his memories in order to escape the house, he wasn't in any actual condition to do anything magical, but right now, he didn't need to. All he had to do was stop Malcolm, and he had been waiting for this all his life. Rum used his last bit of magic to return to himself. He wanted the man looking into his real face when he beat him.

"Rum, look out," Belle shouted as Malcolm threw a punch towards his aching head. His father had been a street scrapper in his younger days, but those had been a while ago. He'd been living soft for too many years. Rum threw him back onto the floor and punched him, once, twice, then a third time. The pounding in his head was playing to the time of the assault from outside, and he could no longer tell which was what, but he couldn't stop himself. Years of frustration, a lifetime of fear, were playing out all at once. His father wasn't struggling any more, but he couldn't seem to stop. In the back of his mind, the imp was crowing with glee. "Rum, stop, stop, please," the voice came through to him from a very long way away, like a lighthouse in the fog. Slowly he clawed his way back to sanity. There was blood on his shirt, Malcolm was unconscious on the floor as he fell back and allowed consciousness to leave him.

*********************

Rum woke up in his own bed, his body wrapped around someone else. He opened one eye carefully, wondering briefly if this was a hallucination. If he was lucky, it had all been a hallucination. Then he saw exactly who he was wrapped around. Belle was laying curled up, sheltered in the curve of his body, wearing what looked like one of his shirts. No, if this was a hallucination, he decided he was going to settle down and stay there.

"Hey," she said, as she opened one blue eye.

"Hey," Rum replied hoarsely. "What..."

"Happened? That depends on what part. I was so worried about you. After you... did whatever it was you did, is that really the face of the curse, or were you just trying to put him off?"

"It's a little of both. But I promise I will explain it all later," he said, laying back and pulling her close to him. She wasn't resisting, and though nothing had been said yet (and he knew it would be, there was much talking to be done between the two of them), somehow, he ended up with Belle, and that was more than worth it. His head was still pounding but the kaleidoscopic images were no longer assaulting his brain, and from what he could tell, the imp was asleep. His knuckles had healed themselves at least.

"So, there was an explosion that I found out was Jefferson. He said you called him."

"Did, yeah," he said, closing his eyes against the light.

"Well, you beat Malcolm unconscious. He's still alive, but apparently he's been under investigation by some government agency I've never heard of for a while, Emma Swan actually works for them, International weapons trafficking. They dragged him away to... actually they didn't say."

“Can keep him for all I care. I knew there was something wrong with the company. I contacted the government, knew about Emma, sorry, wanted to tell you, but they weren’t sure. Had an audit done before I left for the demonstration. That must have been why he tried the kidnapping, thought if I didn't come back, nothing would come of it. Instead, I was in no place when I got back to even think about it," he admitted, wrapping an arm more tightly around her shoulders.

"But what happened? I was so scared for you."

"When he caught you trying to call me, he put in the protocols to override the code controlling Glass. The house locked down and I was trapped. But I was so afraid for you. I have been fighting this curse from moment one, but while you were..."

"Processing," she supplied firmly. Belle wanted to make it clear that she was never trying to leave him.

"Processing...very well. Anyway, I started to experiment. I also stopped fighting. The curse, it has a life of its own, although whether it is made up of some kind of amalgamation of all the people who have ever had it, or it always had a life, I don't know. It's a bit like an AI. The imp was trying to get me to allow it to integrate with me, allow access to my memories, and allow me the same. I was too afraid to do it. Then you were in trouble, and I couldn't figure out how to make it work. I let go. Unfortunately I didn't have time to let the process run its course. I had to get to you..."

"So that explains what happened to Glass." Belle said.

"It was an accident, really, I didn't mean to blow up his processor," he said with just a hint of a smirk.

"Sure, I believe you," she smiled.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. I called Jefferson. I was having a little trouble making sense, but I couldn't just have Malcolm disappear, that would be too suspicious, especially considering everything that has happened. There are a lot of people who would be more than willing to believe the worst of me, so I told him I was going to sneak in and try to keep him busy until they could arrive."

"And you used the last of your magic to do it?" she asked. She wasn't certain she approved or even understood magic, but now that it was in her life, she would have to figure it out.

"I needed to save you, that was all that mattered. Something that I have learned, or remembered, I'm not sure. Magic is not natural in this world, it came from somewhere else, and there is even less of it now than there was before. Who knows, it may drain off completely over time. But for now, every time I let it have control, I was pushing myself in ways I wasn't ready for."

"You could have hurt yourself, or been hurt," she scolded.

"I know better now. And now that you've caught me up, care to tell me how I ended up waking up with you in my bed and so tantalisingly dressed?" he asked with a smirk. "Not that I am complaining. I've wanted you here for a very long time."

"You never said anything," Belle said, leaning over to place a gentle kiss beside his mouth.

"I'm not very good at it. You deserve so much better, I thought..."

"You thought wrong. I make my own choices, and I chose you. I love you, Rum Gold." He lay there for a moment. It was all out in the air now. He just had to do the brave thing.

"I love you too, Belle," he said, and pulled her down for a gentle kiss. Soon, when the pain in his head faded, there would be time for more. He could bring Bae back, start his life again, with his son and with Belle. Oh, the company would still need to be audited, the rest of his father's cronies rooted out. But that was for later. For now, he wrapped his arms around Belle and settled back comfortably to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So some of you probably read this at the time. I just saw it and reread it and needed to fix it a little, more than enough for an edit. Please enjoy again and comment if you like. I left the original attributions below because they still apply 
> 
> Ok, this was really challenging to write. There are a couple of ways to write an AU, one is to replace the characters, and other is to use the important bits of the plot. I decided on the second because I just couldn't get him in the suit. Many thanks to Robin4, sternel, and my sister, BardicRaven for helping, veting, and listening to me angst and worry about this. Please, read comment, etc. The story is posted all of a piece on Tumblr but it is long as hell and so I decided to put in in chapter form here. Thank you.


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